


sins of the father

by TheJediAreGay



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, an assortment of other genres
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-06
Updated: 2020-08-16
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:48:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 21,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25105699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheJediAreGay/pseuds/TheJediAreGay
Summary: A collection of one-shots mostly centered on Luke and Vader and their often dysfunctional relationship. Expect angst, fluff, AU's, and a little bit of humor sprinkled in.
Relationships: Anakin Skywalker & Luke Skywalker, Luke Skywalker & Darth Vader
Comments: 22
Kudos: 192





	1. Table of contents

**Author's Note:**

> I have a few one-shots written and on deck already, but otherwise I'll be updating when the Star Wars writing bug hits me.  
> I adore one-shot series stories and especially when they revolve around my favorite father/son duo. There's a few of these stories I'd like to credit as my inspiration for making this:  
> \- Where Our Intrepid Hero Doesn't Get Away by sparklight (truly a classic in this fandom)  
> \- Tumblr Prompts by KaelinaLovesLomaris  
> \- The kidnappings of a Sith Lord by maedre13  
> \- Luke & Vader One-Shots by Slx99  
> I wish I knew how to link things in the notes so I could share links to their works!

**CHAPTER 2: Head on Collision**

Summary: Approximately one month post ESB, Luke's crashes his ship into Vader's and strands them on the planet below. Their reunion goes south, and Vader has regrets. [angst]

**CHAPTER 3: The Butterfly Effect (PART 1)**

Summary: Anakin makes a different decision in Palpatine's office that night that alters the course of the future. Darth Vader never comes to be and Anakin sees his children brought into the world. [AU: canon divergence]

**CHAPTER 4: The Butterfly Effect (PART 2)**

Summary: Anakin makes a different decision in Palpatine's office that night that alters the course of the future. Darth Vader never comes to be and Anakin sees his children brought into the world. [AU: canon divergence]

**CHAPTER 5: Ghostly Conversations**

Summary: After the Battle of Endor, Luke has the opportunity to talk to Anakin's Force ghost.

**TO BE ADDED TO**


	2. Head on Collision

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Approximately one month post ESB, Luke crashes his ship into Vader's and strands them on the planet below. Their reunion goes south, and Vader has regrets. [angst]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really wanted to explore Luke’s mental state in the months following Bespin as well as Vader’s volatile side. I hope I did it some justice!

After his failure on Bespin, Vader had hoped his next meeting with his son would be under more _optimal_ conditions. He would have preferred it to be when Luke was safely incapacitated and unable to flee. If need be, he would have waited to strike until Luke had fully come to terms with the reality of his parentage. The wounds were still too fresh for the boy. At least, that was what Vader assumed. His son must have begun working on his shielding skills the moment he slipped through his fingers on Bespin. He no longer projected his hurt or his longing strongly enough for Vader to sense it.

He had not expected, not planned, not _wanted_ their next meeting to begin with Luke’s X-wing ramming into his TIE fighter as they entered the atmosphere of Gan Moradir. It was easy to deduce that the two of them were there for the same reason; a rebel munitions station located somewhere in the planet’s vast forests. If Vader were to destroy one of their largest supplies of weapons, he could cripple their Mid Rim operations.

It wasn’t a mission the Emperor had requested he undertake, but one he took on himself as a pet project. A way to occupy his time. He would be able to cut through the small fleet of rebels quicker and more efficiently than any battalion he could send out, and a lone TIE fighter would attract less attention than a group of them. What he _didn’t_ account for was his son chasing him down and plowing through his right wing.

He doesn’t know Luke’s reasons for visiting the planet. He could be coming to replenish his weapons supply, he could have been stationed there, or he could have been in the Mid Rim and sensed Vader nearby. He highly doubts the last possibility. With how untrained the boy is, he wouldn’t have been discrete in making attempts to sniff out Vader’s position through the Force.

Vader was close enough to the surface when his wing was knocked out to be able to steer the ship clear of trees, waiting until the right moment to activate his ejector seat. He lands on his feet, the TIE fighter crashing into a ball of fire behind him.

He watches as his son lands about 100 meters in front of him, tumbling out of the X wing in his own ejector seat. The X wing takes down an entire row of trees with it as it hurtles towards a lake. It catches on fire mere seconds after touching the lake’s surface, saving the both of them from the possibility of a forest fire. The TIE fighter rests in a relatively barren spot which should prevent the flames from spreading from tree to tree like a line of torches.

He moves in long strides towards the boy, who has yet to rise from where he dropped. An uncomfortable, rolling feeling sparks in the pit of Vader’s stomach, but he’s quick to extinguish it. The boy’s Force presence still shines bright. _Alive._ As he gets closer, he can see Luke slowly rolling onto his stomach, stretching his hand out to dig into the ground.

 _So he’s conscious,_ Vader observes. _That will present some difficulty._

It looks like the boy is making a pitiful attempt to raise himself up off the ground. His arm trembles with the effort, but his body barely moves a centimeter. The rough landing has left him with injuries, it seems. Vader will have to examine the boy himself and determine from there how urgent it is that he get the boy off the planet and to a med bay.

He reaches the groaning boy in less than a minute, kneeling down by his side. Dirt clings to his face and falls from his hair, mingling with sweat to make lines down his cheeks. Vader squashes a split-second urge to wipe the mess off his face.

Their doomed encounter on Bespin almost one standard month ago was the first time he saw his son up close. They encountered each other once before on Cymoon 1, but Vader hadn’t really _looked_ at the boy. He had no reason to take in the appearance of a child he intended to kill. He did not yet know the rebel pilot who blew up the Death Star was his son. When the boy pulled _his_ lightsaber out that day, he only looked to the boy’s Force presence; pure, Light, powerful.

On Bespin, he was able to examine the shell that encased that untapped potential. He saw the light hair and eyes, the upturned nose, the cleft chin, the softness that betrays his youth. But even then, he had been at least a lightsaber’s length away from him. Now he’s as close as he dares, close enough to reach out and cup that youthful face. If he were so inclined, that is.

Luke’s eyes flit upwards to meet Vader’s gaze. He’s able to pinpoint where his eyes are through the opaque lenses with an accuracy only matched by his Master. The boy’s jaw is clenched, his eyes flooded with unchecked fear. His bright light in the Force is clouded with feelings of terror, anxiety, a tinge of regret, and copious amounts of anger. Vader was correct in assuming it to be far too soon after Bespin for the boy to have come around to his offer.

“I am not going to harm you, child,” he assures him.

Luke blinks at him, seemingly dumbfounded by his words. He’s quick to recover his wits and shake his head.

“I have a prosthetic right hand that begs to differ…,” he murmurs groggily.

The reminder of their duel makes Vader’s fists clench, his gloves creaking from the effort. He hadn’t wanted to maim the boy, but he left him no choice. Kenobi’s lies assured that the boy would be ready to avenge his “father” when they finally met, and Vader knew their fight would not end until he was dead or physically unable to lift a lightsaber. So, Vader chose the only option he could; disarming him. He did what was necessary in the moment.

That doesn’t mean he didn’t go back to the _Executor_ and repeat the moment over and over again in his head until it became an indelible spot in his memories, wondering if his son was getting proper treatment. Looking down at the realistic prosthetic in place of his flesh and bone right hand, he’s satisfied to finally have the answer.

“If I remember correctly, it was you who refused to concede,” he replies smoothly. “I would not have resorted to such methods had you simply heeded my warning and surrendered.”

His son gapes at him incredulously, his face turning a bright shade of red. Before he has time to snap back with what will no doubt be a childish retort, Vader grips him by the shoulders and rolls him over onto his back. He attempts to do so with the utmost care, but he’s unsure if he succeeded. Gentleness is a long forgotten concept to him. He doesn’t remember the last time he was able to reach out and touch something or someone with any delicacy. His durasteel limbs were built for brute force, for the ability to snap a neck with one hand or crush metal beneath his fingers. He feels ridiculous for even trying to be gentle, like a clumsy child squashing a bug in an attempt to catch it.

Luke sucks in a pained breath. A quick skim of the hand over his abdomen confirms that a few broken ribs are the most likely source of his discomfort. Vader begins patting him down, looking for any more potential breaks or fractures. The boy, however, refuses to make it easy for him. He seems unable or unwilling to make _anything_ easy for him.

“What are you doing?!” he shouts, trying to scoot away from Vader’s touch.

It doesn’t take much effort to hold the boy into place. Not only is he injured, but he’s tiny; tinier than… than _Skywalker_ had ever been. If he hadn’t already known his son’s age, he could have easily mistaken him for a teenager. With his shorter stature and slight build, he more resembles…

 _Those thoughts are useless,_ he scolds himself.

“I’m checking you for injuries,” he answers. “If you take issue with it, then maybe you should have thought twice before crashing both of our ships.”

The boy sputters in indignation, but Vader pays it little mind. His quick examination doesn’t find anything other some scrapes and cuts from tumbling through the trees on his way down. Somehow the boy escaped with those broken ribs being his most severe injury. He may have a concussion as well, but he seems to be lucid enough for Vader not to dwell on it.

“Are you able to move on your own?” he asks.

Luke merely stares at him, silent fury written on his face. The boy is too soft, too willing to extend his compassion to those who don’t deserve it, but he also harbors an anger Vader is intimately familiar with. If Vader could teach him how to hone that anger into a tool and weaponize it, he could become even more powerful than Vader himself. More powerful than the Emperor.

“I’m not going _anywhere_ with you,” he snaps.

Vader grips him by the shoulders and hauls him up into a standing position, ignoring the gasp that leaves his son’s lips. Despite the pain his broken ribs are no doubt causing him, he stands up straight to face Vader, his chin tilted up in silent defiance. He rubs the dirt and sweat off his face with the sleeve of his gaudy orange flight suit, never breaking eye contact. The haughty, almost regal air he gives off reminds him of a woman who is now just a memory.

Vader can’t help but feel a spark of pride in his chest.

“I meant what I said on Bespin,” the boy continues. “I’ll never join you.”

His son is as stubborn as he is foolish. He belabors under the belief that _Jedi_ teachings will help him unlock the true power of the Force. If Obi-Wan hadn’t gotten his claws into the boy, filling his head with lies, he wouldn’t be so militant in his Jedi beliefs. Vader knows that if he can give the boy a taste of the Dark Side, it will take root in him; roots that cannot be ripped out. He _will_ have his son by his side. It’s only a matter of when.

“Foolish of you to assume you have a _choice_ , young one,” he shoots back, an undertone of amusement in his voice. The boy must take it for mockery, if his souring expression is any indication.

“I’ll die first,” Luke hisses.

He catches a memory in his mind’s eye; Luke letting go, falling into the abyss down below to get away from _him_.

“You seem to be in _quite_ the hurry to die, child,” he growls.

Luke flinches, taking half a step back. No matter how strong his anger is or how much he lets it guide him, the boy still has a healthy amount of fear. Vader wants to snap at him, call him ridiculous for even entertaining the idea that he would harm him. But he _can’t_ promise he’ll never hurt the boy. That promise has been broken before it was ever made.

“I’m not _trying_ to die,” he admits. “It’s _you_ who keeps putting me in positions where it’s my only option.”

Anger flares in Vader at the accusation. He points a warning finger at Luke’s chest.

“It was you who crashed into my TIE fighter, was it not?” he snarls.

He knows Luke can feel the cold tendrils of his rage surrounding him. He projects it towards the boy purposefully, serving as a warning. His son knows very well what happens when people test his ire. The boy slumps his shoulders almost imperceptibly, a subtle show of submission. He’s far too stubborn and self-righteous to yield to him completely, but he’s smart enough to know which battles to concede. _Mostly_.

“I was doing my job,” he insists. “I knew what you were coming here for and I had to find a way to stop it.”

The boy continues to remind him that he’s still a child in so many ways. He has that foolish loyalty to his misguided cause, the readiness to die for a flame on its way to being stomped out. No one deserves such devotion from his son, especially not a pathetic band of insurgents who only want to utilize his Force sensitivity.

“My plans have changed,” he admits. “Your rebel friends can wait. I have more important matters to attend to.”

A wave of confusion passes over the boy’s face. It lingers for a few more breaths before understanding dawns in his eyes as he realizes what that “important matter” is: him.

“You don’t even have a way to get the both of us out of here,” he declares, his words sounding half like a statement and half like a question.

“I sent out a distress signal before my ship plummeted. A fleet will be coming to collect us shortly.”

The boy’s eyes widen in panic. There’s an almost feral urgency in them, like that of an animal caught in a trap. He quickly looks from side to side, searching for a route to escape. Vader doesn’t need to reach out through the Force to know his thoughts. He’s wondering how quickly he can weave between the trees and if Vader would be able to keep pace with him. Maybe he’s taking into account that Vader has a lightsaber and he does not, and the possibility that Vader will cut down trees to block his path. His abysmal lack of training leaves him predictable. He doesn’t yet know how the Force can be used to manipulate even the most hopeless of situations to his favor.

He watches as the panic on the boy’s face turns to resignation, and then as the resignation turns to rage.

“I hate you,” he hisses. “I hope you know that. I hate you with every breath and every drop of _your_ blood that I have in me.”

Vader remains unmoved by Luke’s words. He never expected the child to _like_ him. He’s been raised by others his entire life, indoctrinated by Kenobi, and taken in by rebels. He remains firm in his naïve ideals and dichotomies between “Light” and “Dark”. Even if he never comes to like him, he _will_ come to respect him. Vader won’t allow anything less.

“Your feelings on me are unimportant,” he dismisses. “You are my son, your destiny –”

“Don’t say that!” the boy shrieks, desperation dripping from his words.

“It is the truth, and you would do well to accept it,” he snaps.

Luke’s fists clench at his sides, his knuckles turning white. He’s unconsciously letting his rage leak out into the Force like oil crawling across a helpless sea. Had they been in a different situation, Vader would have encouraged that anger as a training opportunity. Right now, as they wait for transport with one lightsaber and two broken ribs between the two of them, the uncontrollable nature of the boy’s rage is more of a hindrance.

“I’ve accepted that you’re biologically my father,” he confesses. “But in every way that matters, I’m not your son.”

Vader takes a small step forward, claiming the ground his son gave minutes ago. Some of the boy’s anger that poisoned the air abates to make way for fear as Vader looms over him. The stony glare that Luke was directing at him starts to slip.

“ _Oh?_ ” he asks, his baritone voice making the single word sound like a threat.

He can see by the way the boy tenses up and leans away that he desperately wants to take another step back. His discomfort is spiking from having Vader so close. But there’s a fight in his eyes, and Vader knows he will _not_ step back. He will stare his own fears in the eye rather than back down from a challenge. If Vader had given it more thought, it would have reminded him of someone.

“How can you call me your son when all you want is to use me as a tool to get rid of the Emperor?” he demands. “I’m not something for you to possess! I _refuse_ to become a slave to –,”

“ _You do not know the meaning of that word, boy._ ”

Luke stops abruptly, a sharp sense of realization dawning on his face. Then, so faintly that he could almost believe it was imagined, Vader feels a flash of sympathy projected towards him.

The boy must know at least part of his family history. How much of it his guardians chose to tell him, Vader doesn’t know. He doesn’t _want_ to know, doesn’t wish to speak of it at all. If it had been his choice, that shame would have stayed buried in the past and kept far away from his son.

He _loathes_ pity. It is a useless gesture to be directed towards the weak and helpless, like the little slave boy toiling away in a junk shop on Tatooine. He is not that boy. That boy doesn’t exist anymore. And he does _not_ need the pity that belongs to that slave boy, especially not from his own son.

He focuses hard on quelling the rage boiling up inside him. Those memories, those feelings belong to a different man and a different time. This child will _not_ make him revive them.

“I-I didn’t mean…,” Luke responds meekly.

Vader inclines his helmet down at him.

“You will learn how to hold your tongue, child. Or I will relieve you of it.”

The boy’s face hardens into the same glare he had minutes before. Vader much prefers it over that soft, almost fearful sympathy that made him want to grab the boy by the shoulders and shake him until it flew off his face.

“Why stop there?” Luke challenges. “Why don’t you cut off my legs too while you’re at it? Maybe if you chop off enough body parts, you’ll win me over.”

_He leapt through the air, lightsaber outstretched. But Kenobi was too fast, slicing through both of his legs right above the knee. He fell onto the rocky shores and watched as the useless logs of flesh rolled down the hill towards –_

He growls, reaching out and grabbing the boy by the shoulders. This naïve, insolent little child pokes at scars that Vader has kept hidden under layers of memories and armor; scars that he has no business opening back up again. And the worst part is, he doesn’t even _know_ that he’s doing it. It’s Vader’s own weakness that allows him to keep digging his way underneath his skin. No matter what he tells his Master, the truth is that the boy _does_ make him weak.

And he will not tolerate it any longer.

“Do not tempt me, child,” he spits.

Then, to serve as a reminder that he follows through on his threats, he reaches out through the Force and puts the slightest amount of pressure on Luke’s trachea. It only lingers for a second or two, barely long enough to take the boy’s breath away. He’s not trying to harm the boy, not really. He’s trying to scare him into reality. If he cannot learn to obey Vader, he won’t last facing his Master.

The boy sucks in a sharp breath, his hand flying up to rest at the base of his throat. The hand – his flesh and bone one – shakes ever so slightly. No physical marks are left, but he _knows_. The boy knows how easy it would have been for Vader to squeeze the life out of him right then and there.

Vader expects the boy to back down and tamper his anger. He expects the fire in his eyes to turn to fear or defeat. And yes, the fire _does_ die out. But there’s no fear on the boy’s face. There’s no emotion on his face at all. He merely stares at Vader as if he’s looking through him, _seeing_ something that Vader himself is unable to. Then his eyes fill with sadness. Sadness for _what_? For himself, or for the man in front of him?

The out of place emotion fills Vader with an inexplicable rage.

“Is that what happened to my mother?”

 _How_ dare _he? HOW DARE HE?!_

Vader’s fingers tighten their grip on the boy’s shoulders until he winces from the pressure. He desperately tries to wiggle his way out of the hold, but Vader’s strong, durasteel limbs prove unyielding. He does not care that he’s hurting the boy, no doubt leaving painful bruises in his wake. His anger gathers tightly around him like a snake crawling across his body, whispering to go further, to snap his bones beneath his hands.

But no, he cannot. He _will not_.

“You are an insolent, overconfident, _stupid_ little boy who needs to learn his place. And I am going to teach you what that place is.”

Horror fills the boy’s eyes. It’s not horror for what Vader may do to him, he realizes. It’s horror for _her_. Horror at what he’s done. He’s committed the most unforgivable sin imaginable, and the boy knows it. He’s deprived him of a mother. He deprived _her_ of being a mother. She had been so excited to meet their child…

 _“Something wonderful has happened”_ she had said.

“You… You did it, didn’t you?” Luke whispers. “You killed her.”

Vader says nothing, letting the silence speak for him. The boy trembles under his grip out of pure, unadulterated rage.

“You killed my mother. My _mother_. And you think you have any kind of right to me? You don’t even have the right to call me your son! You’re a monster!”

He knows this. The second he took his first steps on shaky prosthetic legs and breathed in mechanized breaths, he knew he ceased to be a man. He is unforgiving, unrelenting, and uncaring. There has been nothing for him _to_ care for since the day Anakin Skywalker ceased to exist. The insult being hurled at him by his son should mean just as little to him as it does when it’s said by anyone else.

He did not expect to feel… hurt. Yes, he believes this feeling rising up through his chest and into his battered lungs is hurt.

And with hurt comes rage. Massive amounts of it.

He drops his hands from the boy’s shoulders, one of them reaching out to grip him by the neck. He can’t remember the last time he was this deeply, uncontrollably angry. His anger is his weapon, meant to be held tightly within himself and honed like a lightsaber aimed precisely at its target. He does not act on impulse. But at the moment, his thoughts are a maelstrom of hatred and rejection and memories that he cannot think of, that should be dead and buried and _just looking at the boy’s face brings them all to the surface_ –

“Do not speak of her!” he shouts, centimeters from the boy’s face. “Never speak of her again!”

That sharp spike of fear flows off the boy once again, but he’s pushing it down in favor of the righteous anger he feels and has probably felt since Bespin. No amount of shouts or threats or uses of physical force will intimidate the boy into shutting his mouth. None of Vader’s usual tactics will work on him.

There is absolutely no one in the galaxy like his son.

“You know, I used to be angry at Ben for not telling me the truth about you,” Luke whispers. “I thought it would have saved me a lot of pain if he had just been honest from the very beginning.”

The boy releases a shaky breath.

“But now I’m realizing he did the right thing by keeping me in the dark. He was trying to protect me from the burden of knowing what I came from. I wish I could go back to not knowing.”

He tightens his grip on the boy’s neck slightly. With every fiber of his being he fights the urge to squeeze as tightly as he can until the anger beating against his ribs is finally sated. The idea that _Kenobi_ still has his son’s loyalty after all his lies and betrayals is infuriating. Even from beyond the grave, he’s taking something from Vader. He’s stolen Luke just like he stole the boy’s mother. He aches to kill the man a second time, but he’s not here.

Luke is.

“Kenobi was a weak, arrogant old fool who lied to you for nothing more than his own personal gain. If you think otherwise, you’re a fool as well.”

Luke looks at him with a steely resolve.

“In those few hours we had together, Ben was more of a father to me than you could ever be. So if he’s a fool, then I guess so am I.”

That coil of anger building in his stomach snaps and ricochets around his entire body. The cloud of his rage that only consumed the two of them now fills up the entire forest, if not the entire _planet_. He can’t even see the boy anymore, so blinded he is by the force of his anger. The darkness beckons him, _This cannot stand, someone must pay, this anger must be let out_.

And so he tightens his hand.

He squeezes the boy’s neck with wild abandon. His hand thrums with energy that urges him to press down harder, harder, _harder_. He needs to do it the same way he needs the respirator to blow air into his damaged lungs. All the anger, the hurt, the fear he’s ever felt condenses into his connection with the Dark Side with a strength he has not felt in _decades_.

The vision of the boy in front of him, frantically clawing at his hand, fades away. Blond hair turns brown, light eyes turn dark, and he’s no longer looking at his son but at _her_. In his ears are the sounds of the roaring volcanoes and her weak protests of _‘stop’_. There is no Gan Moradir and there is no Luke. He’s on Mustafar, watching from outside his own body while he strangles his pregnant wife without an ounce of hesitation.

_He turned her against me she betrayed me this was all for her I was only trying to save her she was my wife he was my brother andtheybothbetrayedme –_

_“Let. Her. Go!”_

Obi-Wan’s voice rings out from the distance, sounding like it comes to him from underwater. But he does not listen. He squeezes and squeezes because all he feels is anger and _hurt_ beyond measure. There is no thought behind his action, only the kind of raw emotion that the Dark Side draws from. It’s too late for him and for the rest of them. Because just like Anakin’s love, his anger destroys.

_“P-Plea...se..”_

Padmé’s pained whisper no longer sounds like it comes from her. The voice is a blend of her own soft tones and something else. Something else familiar.

_“Please… Father…”_

_Father_. The title doesn’t belong to him. He once thought he would someday claim it proudly, but that was stolen from him. He killed his baby. He killed _their_ baby, along with her. The child died in its mother’s womb. He killed it, he killed it…

_“Please, Father, don’t kill me.”_

The roar of the volcanoes fade. Obi-Wan disappears from out of the corner of his eye. Brown hair turns blond again and he gazes down to find it’s not his wife he has caught in his grip but his son. His son, who speaks to him through the Force with what little life he has left in him.

Vader releases him in an instant and watches as he drops into an unceremonious heap onto the ground. His head rolls to the side to reveal closed eyes and slightly parted lips, like he could be sleeping. He looks like _she_ did, after he…

_Not him too, not him too, you cannot take him from me too!_

A frantic probing through the Force confirms to him that his child is still alive, only unconscious. If the Force has granted him but one gift in his life, it is that.

He falls to his knees beside the boy, reaching out to touch him, but he stops short. Disgust fills him. It’s his own hand that caused this. Who is he to touch his son with the intention of helping instead of harming? The mechanical monstrosity he calls his body is not designed to treat anything with care. It is made to destroy. That is his only use to his Master. Wherever he goes, whatever he touches, he leaves a trail of wreckage in his wake. He was foolish to believe he could do any different with his son.

But still, he is selfish. He pulls the child’s body into his arms, snaking one of his gloved hands up to press the little blond head against his armored chest. It’s a cheap imitation of an embrace, the closest thing he’ll ever get to holding his son, and he knows he does not deserve this moment. He does not deserve to look upon his son’s sleeping face and feel the rise and fall of his chest as he breathes peacefully against him.

There are already fingerprints forming around his neck. Vader turns his gaze away from the offending marks. If his son hadn’t reached out to him through the Force and broken his angry stupor, if he had kept going…

 _I could never kill my own son,_ a voice in his head growls. It’s half-hearted, and he bitterly wonders when he began lying to himself. He may not have intended to kill his son, or even to hurt him, but their confrontation still ended with his hand around the boy’s neck.

He swore when he found out he had a son that he would keep the boy safe. He would protect him the way he failed to protect others he once cared for. Even the Emperor would feel his wrath if he tried to interfere.

But who will protect his son from _him_?

“Luke… my little one.”

He leans down, pressing his helmet against the crown of his child’s head.

“I’m sorry.”


	3. The Butterfly Effect (part 1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anakin makes a different decision in Palpatine's office that night that alters the course of the future. Darth Vader never comes to be and Anakin sees his children brought into the world. [AU: canon divergence]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is part 1 of a 2 part little story I want to do. Admittedly part 1 focuses a little more on Anakin, Padmé, and Obi-Wan than it does on Luke and Leia, but part 2 focuses heavily on the SkyTwins.

It was a mistake.

 _A mistake_.

A stupid decision made in the heat of the moment that he cannot take back. There’s no way to fix _this_. It’s irrevocable, and he has nothing to blame except his own cowardice. He was faced with a difficult decision and made the wrong choice. And the consequences… they’re beyond devastating. He’s here, standing witness to the galaxy’s worst failure.

He’s killed Chancellor Palpatine.

Anakin doesn’t know why he sided with Master Windu over the Chancellor. He chose to help the man who has done nothing but distrust and undermine him since he joined the Order at the age of nine over the man who has treated him like a son. In that split second, he had decided betraying the Jedi was worse than betraying the Chancellor. He had stayed loyal to the authority he pledged his life to, at the cost of betraying the Republic he swore to protect.

He knows, down to his bones, that the Chancellor was not trustworthy. The seemingly harmless old man was the Sith Lord who had alluded them for the entire war. He was likely pulling the strings behind this war, costing millions of lives. But with as much life as he had taken, he could _give_ it as well.

Only _he_ had the power to save Padmé. Anakin had just as good as killed her himself. And for what? For the Jedi Order? An Order he had promised her he would leave if she only asked? He’s condemned his wife, and potentially his child too. His own _wife_ … She’s the entire galaxy to him. He was too weak to protect her.

Anakin sinks down to his knees in front of the still warm corpse, his head in his hands. A deep, pained moan falls off his lips.

“What have I done?” he laments.

A hand falls on his shoulder, and he knows it’s Master Windu. He doesn’t want the man’s hollow attempts at comfort, but he doesn’t have the strength to push him away. Master Windu hates him, that much he knows. At the very least, he looks down on him. Anakin knows he sees a darkness in him. He thinks he’ll never be a good enough Jedi. In Master Windu’s opinion, Anakin isn’t the “Chosen One” like the rest of the Jedi believe. And maybe he’s right. Anakin _was_ seconds away from letting a Sith Lord live. And now he’s regretting his decision.

“You’ve saved the Republic,” Master Windu replies, slightly out of breath. “We owe you our gratitude, Skywalker.”

Anakin doesn’t want his gratitude. He just wants Padmé to live.

“But at what cost?” he whispers. Of course, Master Windu won’t know what he means.

“You’ve done commendably today,” Master Windu continues. “I’ll have to confer with the rest of the council, but I believe you’ve earned the role of Master.”

Anakin knows he should be happy, but in this moment, he doesn’t care. The role of Master is meaningless to him. It’s a useless title that will earn him nothing but a marginal increase in respect and a permanent spot on a Council that still doesn’t respect him. The fantasy he used to harbor about earning the role falls apart in the cold light of reality. It means nothing, absolutely _nothing_ , if he has to trade Padmé to get it.

He feels claustrophobic. The walls of this office are closing in on him. If he stays a second longer, he’ll suffocate against those red walls, he knows it.

“I need to leave,” he murmurs, rising to his feet.

With one more look at the hole through Palpatine’s chest, Anakin rushes out of the office. He ignores Master Windu calling after him, demanding to know where he’s going.

He doesn’t look back. He _can’t_ look back. There will be no more looking to the past for him ever again. He needs to change the future.

Padmé’s apartment is less than half an hour from the senate building, but the drive is torture for Anakin. He agonizes over Padmé’s potential fate the entire way there while the sun sets deeper into the sky. She’s due soon; not soon enough for it to be any day now, but soon enough for Padmé to have begun making the preparations to move them to Naboo for the birth.

He could only have a matter of weeks to find a way to save her.

When he reaches her apartment, he wastes no time in rushing inside, as if he’s going to find an intruder. Instead he just finds Padmé, sitting on the couch and looking over what he assumes to be paperwork. One of her hands rests on her growing baby bump absentmindedly. It’s a habit of hers now, and he often rests his own hand on top of her stomach the nights they’re able to share a bed.

Her head snaps up, and he can see the slight panic in her eyes. It quickly melts into relief when she realizes it’s him. As he usually does when they’re with each other, he feels her joy seeping out through the Force, latching onto him. If she knew of the sin he had just committed, she wouldn’t be so elated to see him. He’s never deserved her devotion, but now feeling it just makes him even more disgusted with himself.

“Ani, what are you doing home?” she asks. “I wasn’t expecting you back tonight.”

She gets up from the couch with some difficulty, having to brace her hands on either side of her to haul her body up. The baby is making it harder for her to do the simplest of tasks these days. Still, she has never once complained about the difficulties that come along with pregnancy. The only thing she’s griped about is Anakin’s attempts to make sure she doesn’t strain herself. She reminds him often that she is _pregnant_ , not an invalid.

He knows that, of course. That’s not why he does it. He does it because he hopes that maybe, by some slim chance, it will do _something_ to prevent her death.

“Padmé,” he breathes.

Instantly, he can see the flash of concern pass over her face. His wife knows him better than anyone else, even Obi-Wan or Ahsoka. Every word, every breath, every crease of the brow, she can decipher which emotion is behind it. There’s never any use in lying to her.

She approaches him cautiously, as if scared he’s going to fall to pieces the second she’s in front of his face. Does he look so fragile that she thinks she could break him just from a single touch? She _could_ break him. She’s the only person with that power, but not from her touch. Only losing her could shatter him beyond repair.

“Anakin? What’s wrong?”

 _Force_ , does that question hurt him. He has no answers for her. What answer could he give her that wouldn’t make her hate him forever? How is he supposed to explain to her that he sacrificed her life out of blind loyalty and for a useless title? She wouldn’t care about her own life being in danger. She hardly even blinked when he told her about his nightmares, despite her knowing his prediction about his mother came true. No, she would be angry that he potentially condemned their child to the same fate. That would be all she would care about; the life of their baby.

The guilt pierces through him like a lightsaber to the chest. This is his fault, _all_ his fault. He has fulfilled his own prophecy. It’s _him_ , he’s what’s killing Padmé. He’s poison to her, killing her slowly but too selfish to let go.

He sinks to his knees in grief and clutches onto the skirt of her dress. Tears begin to pour out of his eyes as he leans his forehead against the swell of her stomach. Sobs wrack his body, more violent than the sandstorms of Tatooine.

“I’m so sorry, my angel, I’m so sorry,” he cries.

Confusion rolls off Padmé in waves, but she doesn’t ask any questions. She just rests her hands in his hair, pushing her fingers through his curls in the way she knows he likes. She must be waiting for him to explain himself to her, at his own pace.

He doesn’t deserve her kindness.

“I’m the reason this is all happening,” he chokes out. “I can’t lose you, my angel. I couldn’t live without you and… oh Force, the baby… What about the baby?”

Shame fills his chest when he thinks of the child nestled in his wife’s womb. He’s been so worried about Padmé’s fate that he’s given little thought to what will become of the baby. His visions never showed him what will happen beyond his beloved’s death. He’s dreaded the day so much that he hasn’t allowed himself to revel in his impending fatherhood. Some awful, disgusting part of him resents the pregnancy. It’s what is going to take her away from him.

His hands move to cup either side of Padmé’s stomach, cradling it. He loves his baby. Oh, does he love his baby; the daughter he’s sure it’s going to be. The moment he digested the news that Padmé was pregnant, he was filled to the brim with a love that burned so bright he was concerned every Force sensitive in the galaxy would be blinded by it.

That first night, before he fell asleep and had that dream, he stayed up late just to rub his hand over her stomach. He whispered promises to the baby that he would tell them he loved them every day, hold them close when they were sad, and protect them from all the horrors of the galaxy. All things his mother did for him. All things he lost when he became a Jedi.

Now he may never get the opportunity to keep those promises.

He loves his baby so much it hurts, but he wouldn’t be able to raise them without Padmé. He meant it when he said he couldn’t live without her. How could he look his child in the eye, knowing his mistakes were the reason they had to grow up without a mother? The thought is unbearable.

“I’m so sorry, I’m so, _so_ sorry,” he mutters over and over. The words fall from his lips until they lose all meaning. No number of apologies can undo what has been done.

“Anakin, what’s happening?” Padmé asks.

There’s an edge of panic in her words, but she keeps her voice clear and steady; composed, as always. She truly is Anakin’s anchor. Without her, he’d fall to the darkness he knows he carries in his heart. The thought makes more tears leak out of his eyes.

“I killed the Chancellor,” he whispers.

Padmé’s hand stills in his hair.

 _This is it_ , he thinks. _This is when she tells me she doesn’t want me anymore._

“What are you talking about?”

He takes in a shuddering breath and looks up at her, his chin still resting on her stomach. The sight of her big brown eyes flooded with concern for _him_ is almost too much to bear. He can see no anger.

“He was the Sith Lord we were looking for,” he admits. “So I… I killed him.”

Why is she not pushing him away? Why has she not broken into a sprint to get out of the apartment and as far from him as possible? She’s not reacting to him with the horror he expected. One of her hands still rests on his head, while the other has drifted down to brush over his cheek in the gentlest touch he thinks he’s ever received. He leans into her palm like a desperate child.

“I’m sorry you had to do that, Anakin.”

His breath catches in his throat. If only she knew how wrong she was to be giving him apologies. It should be him who’s begging for them.

“Padmé, you don’t understand,” he insists. “Palpatine told me of a power only those who use the Dark Side of the Force have. It’s the power to save someone from death.”

He can feel her sigh reverberating off her stomach. As her pregnancy has progressed, she’s grown more and more dismissive of his visions. She insists that she’s been seen by top of the line med droids dozens of times, and there’s no sign of any abnormalities that would cause a fatal birth. He knows continuing to fret over it only agitates her further, but he can’t stop. He’s reached his lowest point, so desperate that the safety of his wife and child are all he thinks about every hour of every day. It consumes him, and he’s unable to hide it despite Padmé’s wishes.

“Ani, I’m not going to die,” she promises. “And even if I was, _Palpatine_ of all people wouldn’t be able to stop that.”

 _She doesn’t understand,_ he thinks. _She doesn’t know that I would chase down even the most unlikely of options if it meant there was the chance it could save her._

“But you don’t _know_ that!” he declares, rising to his feet. “If I had just acted faster when I started getting visions of my mother’s death, I could have saved her. I won’t make the same mistake with you.”

Padmé sighs and reaches up, cupping Anakin’s cheeks. He turns his head to kiss one of her palms. Almost four years of marriage later and his heart still speeds up whenever she touches him. He doesn’t deserve the affection she so openly gives, but he still revels in it.

“Ani, have you ever heard of the butterfly effect?”

He shakes his head.

“It’s the idea that the smallest of actions can change the future,” she continues. “We make our own destinies. And maybe you… _killing_ Palpatine was what you needed to do to make sure the future you saw never comes to pass.”

He gapes at her. She _couldn’t_ be suggesting… She couldn’t possibly think that Palpatine would have something to do with her death. He knew Padmé’s feelings on the Chancellor soured over the years, but he never would have guessed her opinion of him was that low. Maybe she was correct to doubt him. He deceived them all, masquerading as the Republic’s devoted leader when he was really the Sith that Dooku warned them was taking the Republic down from the inside. But Anakin can’t quite reconcile the Sith Lord who was sabotaging the Republic with the grandfatherly figure who treated him with more respect than the Jedi Council ever did.

“I don’t believe that,” he insists. “I _can’t_ believe that.”

Padmé sighs, turning her gaze to the ground and closing her eyes. When she raises her head to look at him again, she has that same fierce look on her face that she has when she’s getting ready to address the Senate.

“Anakin, did you tell him about us?” she asks.

He shakes his head rapidly.

“No, of course not! You know I wouldn’t risk that.”

She gently rubs her thumb against his cheek.

“Then what reason would he have to tell you that he knew how to save someone from death?”

Her words hit him in an instant. He takes a step back, letting her hands drop from his face, trying to come up with some sort of excuse to hurl back at her. He wracks his brain, wondering if he ever accidentally said something that triggered Palpatine’s revelation about being able to restore life.

Nothing comes to mind. He’s kept this burden largely to himself, fearful of the Council sensing his turmoil and finding out about his secret marriage. His unsuccessful meeting with Yoda was the closest he got to reaching out for help.

 _A lot of good that did me,_ he thinks bitterly.

No matter how much he trusted Palpatine, he never let on that he feared for _anyone’s_ life. And in the end, the man had still known about his visions. Anakin shielded them well. No one should have known.

“Anakin…,” Padmé whispers, her nose screwed up in deep thought. “I don’t know much about the Force, but if he was a Sith Lord like you said, would he have been able to… maybe… give you the visions?”

“ _NO!_ ”

Padmé flinches away from him, shock on her face. Even more guilt rises in his chest. He _never_ yells at her. He’s yelled about things unrelated to her when she’s been around to listen to him vent, but he’s never directed an angry word at _her_. Even in the disagreements they’ve been having about the Republic lately, he’s kept a level head for the most part. Is he that desperate, that crazed with preemptive grief that he’s willing to lash out at the very person he’s trying to protect?

A powerful surge of self-loathing hits him. He should have suspected that Palpatine was planting the vision in his dreams. There was no way he could have known the things he did unless he had somehow been inside his head, tampering with his thoughts. For someone to enter his heavily shielded mind without him noticing… it wouldn’t be much of a stretch to assume they could place things there as well.

He doesn’t want to believe it, though. Palpatine took him under his wing, checked in on him between deployments, and listened when he needed someone to talk to. But most importantly, Palpatine was _kind_ to him. When he looked to the Jedi and saw nothing but cold stares, Palpatine was there to offer him praise and words of encouragement. But maybe, if he had looked closer at the older man’s eyes, he would have seen a hint of that evilness that supposedly dwelled in him.

Padmé takes a half-step closer to him, undeterred.

“You did the right thing,” she promises. “Even if it doesn’t seem like it right now.”

He gazes at her through watery eyes, clinging onto her words like a child seeking reassurance. He wants nothing more than to believe choosing _Mace Windu_ of all people over Palpatine wasn’t a horrible mistake. If he continues to get the visions after this day, he feels he may lose what little shred of sanity he’s still clinging onto.

“Padmé, I –”

A loud banging on the door interrupts him.

In a flash, his hand goes to the lightsaber on his belt. Was he followed here? Is he being taken in for treason for killing the Chancellor? Or perhaps it’s someone coming for Padmé? There’s been attempts on her life before…

Padmé shoves him towards the kitchen.

“Duck behind the counter!” she whispers.

He’s reluctant to leave her to answer the door alone, but the kitchen is close enough for him to be able to hear what’s going on at the entrance. If there _isn’t_ any immediate danger, then he could risk exposing them both by being in plain sight.

With a worried glance at his wife, he acquiesces and hides behind the counter in the center of the kitchen.

He can hear Padmé taking her time walking to the door, no doubt composing her face into an unreadable mask. That ability of hers, to smother all traces of fear and anxiety at a moment’s notice, never ceases to amaze him.

The door audibly slides open, and there’s a slight pause. It lasts a few too many seconds for Anakin’s comfort. His hand reaches back down to his lightsaber. He’s about ready to jump out of the kitchen and attack this visitor when he hears Padmé’s bemused voice say, “Obi-Wan?”

He freezes.

“Padmé, I’m sorry to intrude, especially this late, but I’m afraid it’s an urgent matter,” he apologizes. “May I come in?”

After the initial shock fades, Anakin finds himself feeling angry. What is Obi-Wan doing, barging into to his wife’s apartment at this hour? Palpatine had implied that the two were _closer_ than Anakin believed…

“I can’t let you do that until you tell me what’s going on,” Padmé insists, her voice firm.

His anger dissipates just as quickly, making way for shame. He was a fool for letting that suggestion Palpatine planted in his head take root. Padmé is just as devoted to him as he is to her. She’s never given him any reason to doubt her loyalty.

 _Neither has Obi-Wan,_ a little voice in the back of his head whispers.

“I’m looking for Anakin,” he hears Obi-Wan say.

He tenses up where he sits.

Obi-Wan knows, he _knows_.

“And why would you be looking for him _here_?” Padmé asks.

She’s remarkably better at maintaining a convincing lie than he is. The confusion in her voice sounds so genuine that he dares to hope Obi-Wan will take her word for it and turn back around. Instead, he hears the other man pause for a few tense moments.

“Padmé… I’m no fool,” Obi-Wan sighs. “Please, take me to him.”

Anakin’s body leans forward, half ready to flee. He feels boxed in, like an animal caught in a trap. He’s grown adept at keeping his two lives separate these past few years. In the Temple and on the battlefield, he plays the role of a Jedi Knight and General. Here, in the confines of Padmé’s apartment, he plays the role of husband and father-to-be. One life leaking into the other could mean them both imploding on each other.

It’s a delicate but vital balance, and he’s somehow ruined it all.

He hears Padmé’s voice rise, steadfastly denying it. It won’t work. They’ve been caught after years of lying to everyone around them day after day. Maybe it was inevitable. Maybe their time has been running out for quite a while now. Whether it was fate or just a stroke of bad luck, it’s time for Anakin to face the consequences. And he knows, if he’s given an ultimatum of Padmé or the Jedi, he’ll choose Padmé every time.

He stands up from his hiding place, walking over to the door.

“If you’re implying that my relationship with Anakin is anything other than a friendship, then you’re –,”

Her words abruptly die on her lips when he approaches from behind, his eyes trained on Obi-Wan. A flicker of relief crosses over the older man’s face for a brief moment, before something akin to sadness replaces it.

Anakin doesn’t much care to think about what’s causing that sadness. He folds his arms across his chest, visibly on the defensive.

“How long have you known?” he asks bluntly.

Obi-Wan slips into his own unreadable mask, much like Padmé’s. Anakin feels a sudden spark of anger and something else he knows he shouldn’t be feeling towards Obi-Wan; hatred. It’s an irrational, purely emotional response, and maybe if he were to take a few moments to calm down, he wouldn’t feel that way. But in this moment, it takes a tremendous amount of self-control not to attack him where he stands.

“Long enough,” he confesses. “I’ve known since the day you came back from your medical leave after Geonosis that something had transpired between you two.”

He chews on his lip, as if he doesn’t know how to proceed. It’s a gesture he’s not used to seeing from the haughty, self-assured man.

“Over time, it became obvious to me that you both harbored feelings for each other. I just never knew the extent of it.”

His gaze lowers to rest on Padmé’s swollen belly.

“Not until recently.”

Anakin steps in front of his wife. He doesn’t want Obi-Wan’s disapproving looks or silent judgment to fall on his relationship with Padmé, the one thing he’ll never be ashamed of. His former Master doesn’t belong in this part of his life. It’s one that’s purely his, where he doesn’t exist only for the Jedi or the war effort, but for _himself_.

“If you’ve known all this time, then why haven’t you told the Council?” he asks, full of suspicion.

Obi-Wan is a good Jedi. He has the respect of the Council, of the entire Order. He’s the perfect example of piety and self-control that Anakin has always strived to achieve. But he feels as though he’s only ever clumsily trying to follow in his footsteps, falling a few inches short every time. Obi-Wan is the kind of Jedi that Anakin should be, but never will. A Jedi like Obi-Wan doesn’t just let blatant violations of the Code fly.

The older man seems shocked by the question. He simply stares at him, opening his mouth like he wants to say something, but closing it just as quickly. Anakin’s patience wears thin.

“ _Well?_ ” he snaps.

Obi-Wan’s face softens in a way Anakin can’t recall ever seeing before. It seems out of place on the usually dour Jedi. Something about it makes Anakin silently rage. It’s too late to look at him like that. That softness was something he needed years ago, but never received.

“It made you happy,” Obi-Wan states simply.

Anakin raises an eyebrow. He once told Obi-Wan that he was the closest thing he’s ever had to a father, but he still can’t imagine the man doing _anything_ for the sake of his happiness. He’s critical of him, quick to judge. He’s tried to make Anakin give up the things that _make_ him happy.

 _Just like the rest of the Jedi_ , he thinks.

“You ignored the fact that I broke the Code… because I was _happy_?”

In an instant, that soft look on Obi-Wan’s face vanishes, and Anakin knows he won’t elaborate. He’ll never get that rare, soft look ever again.

“Your relationship wasn’t what I came here to discuss,” he dismisses. “Anakin, you’re needed in the Council chambers at once. The entire Republic is about to be turned upside down by Palpatine’s death, and we need to address this before chaos descends.”

The thought of standing in front of the very Council that denied him the role of Master, the Council that forced him to spy on Palpatine, fills him with a cold dread. They’ll no doubt ask him to recount the events of the night. How will he be able to withstand their judgmental gazes and probing question without being inundated by regret? The idea of stepping foot in the Temple makes him recoil.

He shakes his head.

“I can’t do that. Not right now. Master Windu was there too, he can handle it.”

“This isn’t something you can ignore, Anakin,” Obi-Wan scolds. “We’ve sworn a duty to protect the Republic, and it needs us now more than ever.”

Rage courses through Anakin’s veins. It’s that burning kind of rage that he felt when he learned that Palpatine was a Sith Lord, or when the Council relegated him to the role of spy. He’s a Jedi in his own right, no longer anybody’s padawan, but Obi-Wan still lectures him like he’s a youngling.

 _He doesn’t trust you,_ a voice whispers in his head. _None of them do. They fear your power._

“Don’t talk to me about our duty right now, Obi-Wan!” he explodes. “You have no idea what I just had to do for the Republic. I’ve fulfilled that duty, and now I’m done.”

Obi-Wan’s eyes turn harsh. It’s a look he knows all too well, reserved for when he speaks out of turn or crashes yet another ship. He’s always _hated_ that look.

“You’re turning your back on us, Anakin,” he states.

The coil of anger building up in Anakin’s stomach snaps into a supernova of righteous fury. Obi-Wan _dares_ to accuse Anakin of forsaking the Order? He’s only ever forsaken everyone and everything _for_ the Order. He abandoned his mother, left her to die in that miserable wasteland, allowed his padawan to be condemned by his fellow Jedi and lose faith in them all, and left his wife to go through her first few months of pregnancy alone so he could go fight in the name of the Republic.

He hasn’t forsaken the Order. They’ve forsaken _him_.

“I’ve given all I have to the Order!” he shouts. “And all any of you have done for me in return is treat me like I’m an outsider or some sort of threat. Even you, my _Master_.”

The last word is spat like it tastes vile on his tongue. Obi-Wan’s mouth forms into a grim line.

“You _know_ I care for you,” he insists. A statement, not a question.

Anakin looks at him with cold eyes.

“No, I don’t,” he admits.

Padmé steps out from behind Anakin to put herself between the two men. Just having her in his line of sight is enough to calm him down marginally. This anger and fear that has all but consumed him since his visions began, he doesn’t want her to become the accidental target of it, so he has to force himself to reel it back in. She holds her arms out, as if to keep them from lunging at each other.

“Would you two stop – _ah_!”

A cry of pain leaves her lips, and she clutches onto her stomach. Anakin’s heart stops. He’s at her side in an instant, wrapping his arm around her waist to make sure she doesn’t collapse.

 _This is it,_ he thinks. _My visions are coming true. This is_ it _._

He’s not ready. He thought he would have three more weeks to come up with a plan to save her. The theory that Palpatine planted false visions in his head is all but abandoned. He can’t take that chance with her life. He has to assume they _are_ real. Which means he could lose her, possibly within the next few hours.

He could only have a few hours left with his wife, his angel.

“What’s wrong?” he panics. “Is it the baby?”

She looks at him, and he can see through the visage of strength she tries to project. _She’s_ panicking too. To a much lesser extent than him, but it’s there nonetheless. This isn’t supposed to be happening yet, and they both know it.

“I-It feels like it could be a contraction. But I don’t understand, I haven’t _been_ having contractions. I’m not due for three more weeks.”

Something nudges at the edge of his senses. It feels like a presence reaching out to him through the Force, soft and unsure, like that of a youngling. Though it’s not strong, it prods at him insistently. It begs to be acknowledged. The emotion this presence projects is almost too fuzzy to decipher, but he can get a faint taste of it. It’s distress.

It’s not his own, and he knows Obi-Wan’s Force presence too keenly to confuse it for his either. Padmé has no Force sensitivity, so she has no distinct presence. It can’t be any one of the three of them, so that leaves…

His eyes widen, falling on Padmé’s pregnant belly. Could it be… his unborn child is projecting its emotions through the Force? He’s never felt anything from the baby before besides a slight glimmer of life, a reassurance that it was there. His baby has never reached out to _him_ before. He didn’t even think that possible. How can an unborn baby even _feel_ things like distress?

If the baby is distressed, does that mean there’s something wrong? Can it sense something the rest of them can’t?

He and Obi-Wan exchange a look.

“Did you feel that too?” Anakin asks.

Obi-Wan nods gravely. He has no answers either.

Padmé looks back and forth between them, her brow furrowed.

“Feel what?” she asks. “What are you two talking about?”

Anakin looks down at his love. She’s the strongest, kindest, most compassionate woman he’s ever known. The possibility that he could lose her is unfathomable. When he pictured how their story would end, he always envisioned himself dying first, because he could never imagine living even a second without her. Just the thought of continuing to trudge through life knowing she was dead and buried steals the breath out of his lungs. That would not be a galaxy worth living in.

He could lose the child too. That child he’s felt kicking within its mother’s womb and who he’s spent hours whispering to while Padmé slept. The child who reminds him there’s still something to fight for. The prospect of losing the child he already loves so much doesn’t bear thinking about. He won’t even consider it.

He needs to put his faith into the Force. His wife _will_ live, and their baby too. It is the will of the Force, and the Force will make it so. _He’ll_ make it so.

“Padmé, I don’t think we’ll be having the baby on Naboo after all.”


	4. The Butterfly Effect (part 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anakin makes a different decision in Palpatine's office that night that alters the course of the future. Darth Vader never comes to be and Anakin sees his children brought into the world. [AU: canon divergence]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The second and final part of this particular one-shot! If you guys have any ideas of future chapters you'd like to see, tell me! I'm always open to suggestions. That being said, I have my next one planned out. Hopefully I'll be able to finish that soon!

In the end, they end up taking Obi-Wan’s speeder to a med center as far from the senate building as possible. Too many questions would arise if they went to one in the middle of the city, and Anakin didn’t want to try taking her to another core world and risk them not getting there in time. Word of a Senator giving birth to her illegitimate baby would travel around soon enough no matter where on Coruscant they went, but at least this way they would be away from the prying eyes of Coruscant’s elite.

Obi-Wan drove in silence while Anakin sat in the backseat with Padmé in his arms. She was trying hard to maintain a brave face, but he could feel her body spasm and her breaths come out in little pants when another contraction hit her. Each time he would kiss her on the top of the head, whispering that they would get there soon and that everything would be alright. But internally, he was spiraling.

The contractions were too close together. He didn’t know much about childbirth, but he had seen enough in his nine years on Tatooine to know the basics. His mother sometimes helped other slave women deliver their babies. She always sent him out of their tiny home when it came time for the actual birth, but he was usually there in the hours leading up to it. He remembered that contractions could begin hours, sometimes a day before the woman actually went into labor. Most times, the women were still forced to go to work by their slavers when the contractions started. It wasn’t until they could hardly do a simple task without doubling over in pain that they were allowed to go seek help. He knew that the less time that went by between contractions, the closer they were to giving birth.

He estimated Padmé’s contractions were coming around 15 minutes apart. Not an hour ago, she had just been having her _first_ contraction. They weren’t supposed to progress that quickly, he was sure of it. He knew, somehow, that the baby was trying to push its mother into labor as fast as possible. Force sensitive babies must be different, even in the womb. The child wanted to come into the galaxy, and they were all helpless to stop it.

Some ridiculous part of him felt betrayed by his child. It was stealing precious weeks he needed in order to learn the skill Palpatine spoke of, to stop Padmé’s death. Now here he is, potentially hours away from his nightmare coming true, and he’s without a plan.

As he and Obi-Wan stand on either side of Padmé, guiding her into the med center, he knows it’s too late to change whatever it is that will come. The Force has decided their fate, and he won’t know what that decision is until it happens.

They approach the first medical droid they see. By now, Padmé is hunched over in pain, clutching onto both their arms. Anakin can sense that even Obi-Wan, who is able to stay composed while facing Sith Lords, is feeling uneasy.

“She’s going into labor,” Anakin says simply, gesturing over to Padmé with his free arm.

“How far apart are the contractions?” the droid asks.

Anakin opens his mouth to answer for her, but Padmé beats him to it.

“About… 10 minutes…” she huffs out.

So, he was 5 minutes off. The situation is even more dire than he originally thought. At the rate her labor is advancing at, he wouldn’t be surprised if the baby came within the hour. His vision is fast approaching, daring him to do anything about it. But there _isn’t_ anything he can do. This isn’t a battle he can fight his way out of. Soon Padmé will be escorted to a sterile room and readied for the birth. There will be pained screams, the sharp cry of a newborn baby, and Obi-Wan’s voice. All the fragments he’s gathered in his visions will be stitched together for a horrifying, final picture. He’ll have to watch his nightmares play out in front of him, helpless.

He can’t watch his wife die. He can’t live without her. If she goes, he goes with her.

“You’re in active labor,” the droid informs them. “We need to get you to a birthing room immediately.”

Anakin resists the urge to scoff. They already knew that much. Isn’t a med droid supposed to be of more help? Shouldn’t it be able to spot any signs of complications she might have?

The droid leads them down several hallways to what Anakin assumes to be the maternity ward. He and Obi-Wan remain on either side of Padmé, holding her upright as her body tenses up in yet another contraction.

 _I wish I could take on the pain for you,_ Anakin thinks desperately.

They finally stop at a room designated for Padmé, and Anakin attempts to help her inside. The droid floats in front of the entrance before he’s able to make it through.

“Only a partner or a family member is allowed inside with the patient. Are either of you related to this woman in any way?”

Anakin’s eyes flit over to his left. Padmé keeps her lips firmly pursed together. She doesn’t even look over at him, weary of revealing their secret. She’s leaving it up to him, he realizes. Beside Padmé, Obi-Wan seems to be deep in thought. After a moment of stifling silence, Obi-Wan opens his mouth, most likely about to deny that either of them are involved with Padmé.

Anakin knows that he and Padmé agreed to keep their relationship a secret, at least until the end of the war. For both of them, duty must come first. He _should_ honor that promise. But the prospect of denying his wife while she’s at her most vulnerable, of not being able to hold her hand while she brings their baby into the world, it’s reprehensible. What kind of husband would he be if he missed that?

He doesn’t care about maintaining their secret life anymore. She’s his wife, and he isn’t ashamed of it.

“I’m her husband.”

Both Obi-Wan and Padmé look over at him, wide-eyed; Padmé because he finally admitted to their marriage, and Obi-Wan because he never _knew_ about their marriage. He knows he’ll have a lot to answer for later.

“Please, follow me,” the droid requests.

He exchanges a glance with Obi-Wan. Anakin’s question is silent, but Obi-Wan catches it anyways and sends an answer to him through their bond.

_I’ll be just outside. The Jedi Council can wait._

The anger he felt towards Obi-Wan earlier in the night, the anger that has been building up for months, is slowly starting to chip away. Anakin is reminded of why he’s considered Obi-Wan to be his family these past 15 years. His former Master is one of the few people in the galaxy who he can rely on, and who he knows will come through in the end. Even when he’s broken the Code that Obi-Wan has tried so hard to drill into his brain, he never gives up on him.

With a quick nod at the older man, he follows the droid into the room with Padmé secured to his side by an arm around her waist. They go through what he assumes to be the routine for a birth. Padmé changes into a gown, the med droid prepares its equipment, and he helps Padmé onto the cot. All the while, her breathing speeds up as the contractions draw closer together. Her brow is furrowed, and beads of sweat are beginning to gather on her forehead. She’s in an immeasurable amount of pain, Anakin can sense it. He whispers sweet words to her while she settles down onto the cot, telling her she’ll be okay and that it will all be over soon.

He hopes he isn’t lying to her.

The droid glides over to check between Padmé’s legs while Anakin sits on the chair next to his wife, holding her hand. He can only hope his presence provides her some small amount of comfort.

“You’ve dilated unusually fast,” the droid informs her. “It’s time to start pushing.”

Padmé looks over at him with panic written all over face. She doesn’t bother to hide it anymore, and that unnerves him more than anything else. This is the woman who hurled herself straight into danger to save her people at 14 years old, who fought her way out of a battlefield on Geonosis, who has stayed calm during hostage situations and assassination attempts. And it’s here, on this hospital bed, that he’s seeing her more terrified than she’s ever been.

On some level, she must be scared that his visions will come true. Maybe she’s not as fearful as he is, but she’s seen for herself that at least one of his premonitions came to pass. She must know there’s a chance this one can as well. He wishes he could tell her that those visions are nothing but a bad nightmare like any other, with no stake in reality. He doesn’t want to see the stark fear on her face. But how can he reassure her when he can’t reassure himself?

He tightens his grip on her hand and leans his head in towards hers.

“It’s okay, my angel,” he murmurs in her ear. “You’re so strong, and I know you can do this.”

Padmé’s eyes meet his, her fear melting away into the determined clenching of her jaw. She gives him a nod, and Anakin hears her message loud and clear. She’s going to focus all of her energy on bringing their child into the galaxy and not think of the grim potential future. Anakin can’t imagine the strength it must take in order to banish those thought from her mind, but he shouldn’t be surprised that she’s capable of it.

Out of the two of them, Padmé has always been the bravest.

She takes a deep breath and bears down, her face twisting up in silent agony while she pushes. Anakin can do nothing but hold her hand through it. He can distantly hear the droid coaching her on how long to push, but all he focuses on is his beautiful wife. Even when her face is red and her forehead sweaty from exertion, she’s beautiful. She truly is the angel he believed her to be all those years ago, and he’s desperate to commit her face to memory in this moment.

“You’re going to be alright,” he promises, trying to make himself believe his own words. “Soon, we’ll have our baby in our arms and everything will be the way it should be.”

Padmé nods absently, squeezing his hand harder as she pushes yet again. He wonders if she’s really hearing his words, or if she’s just acknowledging that he’s there, providing comfort. She looks so lost in her pain, but still so concentrated on pushing like the droid tells her to do.

Her pain seems to heighten with each push. Around the eighth or so attempt, her agonized grunts turn into screams. Her hand squeezes Anakin’s so hard he nearly winces. It’s only a tiny fraction of the all-encompassing pain she’s feeling, so he’s more than willing to bear it.

“Ani…,” she whimpers.

“Yes, my love?” he asks, pushing a sweat soaked strand of hair out of her face.

“If something _does_ happen, and you have to choose between saving me or the baby…,” she pants. “Choose the baby.”

He tenses up, squeezing her hand back.

“It won’t come down to that,” he swears. “You’ll both be okay.”

He can’t make that decision. She can’t _ask_ him to make that decision. How can he choose between the woman he loves more than anything else in the galaxy and the baby they made together? No matter what he decides, he’ll be directly responsible for the death of someone he loves. He refuses to let that happen. He won’t lose anyone else like he lost his mother. His family is staying whole and staying together.

“I want my baby to be okay,” Padmé cries. “Please, just save the baby…”

Anakin leans his forehead against hers. It’s hot and clammy to the touch. He doesn’t care, he just needs to be close to her. He needs to feel that she’s real and solid and _alive_.

“Don’t you start giving up on me,” he whispers. “You _and_ our daughter are going to be just fine.”

Despite her pain, she gives him a faint smile.

“I think you mean our _son_.”

He lets out a little breathless laugh and places a chaste kiss on her lips. Force, does he love his wife. She will never know just how deep his love for her runs. There are no words in any language that can convey the magnitude of it.

“We’ll find out who’s right soon enough,” he teases.

“The baby is crowning,” the droid speaks up. “Give me another big push.”

Padmé braces herself with a few quick breaths and pushes hard. Another ragged scream tears its way out of her throat. Anakin holds onto her hand as hard as he dares, trying somehow to transfer all his strength over to her.

She will not die today. Palpatine may have had the power to conquer death, but _he_ is the Chosen One. That has to mean _something_. He pleads for the Force to be with him in this moment, when he needs it the most.

“You’re doing so well,” he encourages. “You’re almost there.”

“One more push,” the droid urges.

Padmé’s head falls back against the pillow as she pushes again. A scream, the loudest one yet, leaves her lips.

A baby’s cry fills the room.

“It’s a boy,” the droid announces.

_A boy._

Padmé was right. They have a baby boy, a son.

But he can’t celebrate. Not yet. Not until he knows Padmé is alright.

He gazes down at her, searching for any signs of discomfort. He doesn’t know much about the conditions that cause a woman to die after giving birth, but he wants to believe he’d be able to notice if something was wrong. Maybe she would be crying out from a fresh wave of pain, or seizing up, or bleeding between her legs. After looking her up and down, he can’t find anything wrong with her. His fears are unfounded. Padmé looks nothing short of blissful, gazing at their son with teary eyes and a soft smile. He can feel her when he reaches out through the Force, bright and alive and so joyous. _Strong_.

Relief floods him so fast and so hard that it nearly brings him to his knees. All that time he spent in constant fear, wondering how long he had left with his wife, it was for nothing. She’s alive, and their baby’s healthy cry proves he’s alive too. He had been seconds away from selling his soul to make sure this moment happened. In the end, all he had to do was put his faith in the Force and in his wife. If he had pledged himself to Palpatine, then maybe that vision _would_ have come true. Maybe it was a warning.

Now that he knows Padmé is safe, he allows himself to revel in the moment. He’s a father now. He has a _son_. A little human made in love and born into a better galaxy than the cruel, war-torn one that produced his father. He’s everything Anakin has ever wanted.

The med droid finishes cutting the cord and cleaning off the screaming baby and deposits him on Padmé’s chest, allowing Anakin to finally get a good look at him.

“ _Oh_ ,” Anakin whispers.

The baby’s cries have tapered off slightly after being placed on his mother’s chest, but his face is still scrunched up and red. His little hands flail, his feet kicking out. His eyes are screwed shut and there’s just barely a few wisps of blond hair on his head. He’s a pink, wrinkly little creature.

Anakin doesn’t think he’s ever seen anything more beautiful in his entire life.

He reaches his flesh and bone hand out to stroke his son’s little cheek. The baby’s skin is soft against his own rough, battle-worn skin. He doesn’t know how someone like him, stained with darkness, could have a hand in creating something so _good_. Only moments after birth and he’s already a beacon in the Force, so incredibly Light. Everything about him is blindingly beautiful, and Anakin can’t look away.

“Oh, Ani…,” Padmé whispers, rubbing their baby’s back. “Isn’t he perfect?”

Anakin feels his throat tighten from emotion. He doesn’t try to stop the tears from forming in his eyes. The day outside the Senate building, when Padmé told him the wonderful thing that had happened, he told her it was the happiest moment of his life. He was wrong. _This_ is the happiest moment of his life.

“The most perfect baby in the whole galaxy,” he agrees.

Anakin is still running a finger down the baby’s cheek when his little eyes finally blink open. Blue eyes, identical to his own, stare up at him. He’s never thought much about his own eyes, but he falls in love with them when they belong to his son.

He’s never felt a love quite like this; instantaneous and all-consuming.

“Luke,” Padmé whispers, looking down at their child. The same love Anakin is feeling reflects in Padmé’s eyes.

Anakin smiles softly, leaning forward to kiss the top of his son’s head.

“Luke,” he echoes.

Padmé lets out a sudden, quiet groan that reminds him of the sounds she made during her early contractions. The pure joy that was running through his veins halts, replaced by a cold fear.

“What is it?” he asks, his voice rising slightly. “Are you okay?”

Padmé gives him a weak smile and picks Luke up off her chest ever so gently, handing him over to Anakin. His arms adjust to accommodate him. The positioning is a little awkward – he always struggled when Padmé made him practice holding dolls – but all his attention is focused on his wife.

“Y-Yeah, I think my body is just sore,” she reassures him.

He’s not quite sure he believes her. She could just be trying to downplay her pain to ease his worries. Or maybe she believes the danger has passed, like he did initially. If something was wrong, would she even know? Anakin doesn’t know much about what happens post-birth. His knowledge on the topic mostly ends at the placenta coming out sometime afterwards. Is that the pain she’s feeling? Is it supposed to hurt?

The med droid speaks up, “Another baby is crowning. You need to push again.”

Anakin is so startled he nearly drops Luke.

“ _What?!_ ” Padmé shrieks.

“ _A-Another_ baby?” Anakin stutters.

Luke starts whimpering in his arms.

“Yes, it seems you’re having twins,” the med droid tells them matter-of-factly.

The dark, sickly feeling of dread begins to settle into Anakin’s stomach again. It feels as though the ground has caved in underneath him. Any feeling of security he had shatters. The fear, the regret, the clawing and desperate _guilt_ all come flooding back, crawling up into his lungs and taking his breath away. He could _still_ lose Padmé. He could have been seeing the _second_ birth in his visions.

How is there a second baby? How did they not know earlier? What kind of out of date, defective med droids were seeing to her throughout the pregnancy? He’s not prepared for this, and from the way Padmé’s face crumples, he can tell she isn’t either.

They weren’t prepared, but there’s no choice to just opt out.

Padmé starts pushing again, quickly dissolving into screams. It must be agony for her, experiencing the labor pains all over again without time to recover from the first round of it. He wishes he could hold her hand, but their son is resting in his arms. He has nothing but his words to comfort her with.

“It’s going to be okay,” he swears. “It’s all going to be okay.”

Padmé turns her head to the side and buries it in the pillow, barely muffling her next scream. Luke starts whimpering in his arms again. Anakin wonders if it’s from the noise or if he can sense his mother’s pain. He’s so powerful already, Anakin can feel it. There’s little knowledge on children born to Force sensitive sentients, but he would venture to guess, based on the bright light casted by Luke’s presence, that he inherited a midi-chlorian count similar to his father’s. The baby on its way no doubt has it too.

 _The Order will take notice,_ he thinks. _They’ll take them from me._

He banishes the thought. There will be a time to worry about that later. Right now, his wife needs him.

Padmé keeps pushing, and pushing, and pushing. Tears stream down her red face. Anakin swears she didn’t push for this long while giving birth to Luke. Each minute that passes heightens his anxiety. How long is _too_ long?

“What...,” Padmé chokes out. “What if... I can’t do it...?”

“You _can_ ,” he insists.

His voice is firm and leaves no room for argument. It’s nothing like the comforting words he’s been murmuring to her all night, but softness isn’t what Padmé needs right now. She needs someone to push her so she can rise to the challenge. She needs to be goaded into the determination she shows while facing opposing senators and assassins alike. Padmé may not be a fighter in the traditional sense like he is, but she’s a fighter, nonetheless.

She turns her head over to him, breathless, and gives him a quick nod. He smiles back at her.

With a renewed determination, she starts pushing again.

“You’re almost there,” the droid tells her. “One more push and the baby should be out.”

Padmé sucks in a deep breath and gives another push. The sweat that gathered on her forehead has spread out, soaking her hair and running a trail down her neck. Her fingers dig into the sides of the cot as if to keep her body from flying off of it. As her knuckles begin to grow white, the familiar cry of a baby rings out.

“It’s a girl,” the droid says.

Anakin is quick to take stock of Padmé’s condition, both through the Force and through looking her up and down with a sharp eye. He doesn’t see or feel anything out of the ordinary. Padmé is alive and strong. He could collapse in relief if he didn’t still have Luke in his arms. The storm has passed, and his family made it through.

Their _daughter_ is placed on Padmé’s chest, her cries far outmatching her brother’s. She doesn’t look much like Luke, with her dark tufts of hair and a nose that he thinks will look like his – it’s too small for him to tell just yet. But she’s just as beautiful and just as much a source of Light in the Force as her brother is. He didn’t think it possible, but his heart expands even more to make room for her.

He has the little girl he always dreamed about those few times he dared to entertain the idea that he and Padmé could have a family. He _knew_ he was right when he insisted their baby was going to be a girl, just like Padmé was right when she insisted it would be a boy. A mother’s intuition is just as strong as a connection to the Force, it seems.

Because she was so sure the baby would be a boy, she only picked out a boy’s name. And because he was so sure the baby would be a girl, _he_ only picked out a girl’s name. It’s a name he heard a long time ago, a name native to Tatooine; the only sliver of his past life that he’s willing to give to his child.

“Leia,” he whispers.

Padmé kisses their daughter’s little head.

“Leia,” she agrees.

He gazes at his daughter in wonderous silence, taking in every inch of her features, from the peach fuzz on her head down to her little toes. He wants to memorize it all. There’s still a deep-rooted fear lingering inside him, that it may all be taken away.

His eyes flit down to rest on his son, and he quells those fears. Maybe the Force has decided to give him the family he’s always craved after a lifetime filled with enslavement and war and loss. For now, he’ll choose to believe it’s a gift. He has two healthy, beautiful children who he once thought could only be a far-flung dream, something he and Padmé would whisper about while holding each other at night. Now it’s all a miraculous reality.

He’s a _father_. He has _children_. The thought makes him dizzy with joy.

He looks up at Padmé, who turns to meet his gaze immediately.

“Swap babies?” he asks.

She nods and hands Leia over to him. He gently shifts Luke into her arms as he adjusts his grip on Leia. The comforting weight of his daughter in his arms brings a fresh onslaught of love that makes him physically _ache_. He understands now why his mother allowed the Jedi to take him away from Tatooine. He understands why she never resented being left behind while he was able to escape a life of enslavement. He _finally_ understands her dying words.

_Now I am complete._

“I love you,” he whispers down at Leia. “I love both of you, _so_ much.”

His children fill a hole in his life he never knew he had. They complete him.

* * *

It takes what is most likely an hour, but feels like a few minutes, for Anakin to tear himself away from his family and search for Obi-Wan. He finds him in the waiting room, sitting ramrod straight in a chair and bouncing his leg anxiously. Anakin wonders if he’s been this on edge the entire time he’s been waiting. When he spots Anakin, he shoots straight up out of his seat. To any passerby, he looks impassive. He’s carefully crafted a mask of cool indifference over the years, and he wears it nearly every minute of every day. But Anakin knows Obi-Wan. He’s had over a decade to study every twitch of the eyes and quirk of the brow. He knows that beneath that layer of detachment, Obi-Wan is deeply concerned.

“It’s twins,” he breathes out, breaking into a wide smile. “A boy and a girl.”

Obi-Wan just stares at him for a moment, seemingly processing the news. When it sinks in for him, the corners of his lips tug up into a small smile of his own.

“I... Congratulations,” he murmurs.

He must feel strange, being in the middle of all this. Anakin’s violated the Code that Obi-Wan has dedicated his life to. Of course, Anakin _also_ dedicated his life to it, but not in the same way as Obi-Wan. His former Master is the picture-perfect Jedi, rarely straying from the teachings he believes in wholeheartedly. Now he’s witnessing a violation of one of their main tenets; no attachments. His guilt is palpable. He must know it’s wrong to be happy for him, to be keeping this secret from the Council, but he’s doing it for Anakin. Because he wants him to be _happy_.

They have a bond that goes beyond that of a Master and a former Padawan. It’s familial, something akin to brotherhood. And it’s unbreakable, despite Anakin’s efforts to destroy it in moments of anger.

Anakin wonders, if Obi-Wan is willing to risk punishment for the sake of his happiness, maybe there’s a chance he himself has committed the same grievous offense that Anakin has; forming an attachment. An attachment to _him_.

“Come meet them,” he insists.

Obi-Wan glances between Anakin and the exit. He’s stuck around this long, but Anakin can feel the conflict in him; his loyalty to the Order, or his loyalty to Anakin. Meet with the Council, or meet Anakin’s children.

“The Council must be suspicious,” he argues weakly. “I’ve been gone for too long.”

“Then tell them you spent an especially long time trying to convince me to come to the Temple,” Anakin jokes. “but I was being difficult as usual.”

Obi-Wan’s body leans towards the exit but his eyes remain on Anakin, as if he’s fighting some invisible force that pulls him in opposite directions. More moments pass in silence, Anakin leaving his invitation hanging in the air. Eventually, Obi-Wan sighs in defeat.

“I can’t stay for too long,” he warns.

Anakin can sense the unspoken, “ _but I_ will _stay”,_ in his voice. He sends his gratitude towards him through their bond. The older man will never know how much his presence means to him in this moment. Obi-Wan is family to him, and that makes him family to the twins.

He leads Obi-Wan back to the room. The med droid has left by now to tend to other patients, so he finds it easy enough to sneak the older man inside. When they enter, he finds Padmé sleeping peacefully on the cot. He smiles softly at the sight of her. That rest is well deserved.

Anakin walks over to the bassinets where Luke and Leia will be spending their first night of life. Both babies are sleeping like their mother, recently fed and swaddled in blankets.

“This is Luke,” he says, brushing his hand across his little cheek.

“And this is Leia,” he says, doing the same to her.

Obi-Wan takes a step closer, peering down at them curiously.

“They...,” he breathes. “They are... beautiful children.”

His stiff tone and posture betray how uncomfortable he is, but Anakin can sense the sincerity in his words. He may be conflicted, but he’s _here_ , and that’s all Anakin cares about.

He gazes at his babies and his lips twitch up into a smirk. Of course Obi-Wan was being sincere when he called them beautiful. He and Padmé made the most beautiful children in the whole galaxy, and he won’t hear any different.

“Thank you.”

Obi-Wan continues to stare down at the twins, no doubt able to feel how strong they are in the Force. He’s on the Council. It’s his duty to report to them about any Force sensitive children he finds. The Order only takes infants with the permission of the parents, but children _this_ powerful? Born to a Jedi? They may make an exception.

But Anakin knows, despite his unwavering devotion to the Jedi, Obi-Wan would never betray him. He turned the other way while Anakin carried on a secret relationship. He sat in a waiting room for hours to bear witness to these children who, in the eyes of the Jedi, shouldn’t exist in the first place. He won’t tell. Anakin knows it.

“Anakin... I could feel your fear,” he admits. “You were projecting it from the moment Padmé had her first contraction. I’m sure some fear is common in this situation, but yours was _overwhelming_.”

Just being reminded of the months spent in constant fear and paranoia makes Anakin’s chest constrict from a sudden wave of emotion. Hours ago, he’d been so _sure_ that he was going to watch Padmé die. He allowed his fear to rule him, pushing him closer and closer to the precipice of darkness. He nearly destroyed his relationship with his wife with his growing anger. He could have destroyed _her_ , had he taken Palpatine’s offer. Even with the relief that followed her successful delivery, he still can’t shake the regret.

“I thought Padmé was going to die,” he confesses.

Obi-Wan furrows his brow in confusion.

“Why would you think that? Was there a complication?”

Anakin sighs before delving into the whole story. He recounts the visions, the way they consumed him, Palpatine’s promise of a solution, and the temptation he faced to take him up on his offer. When the words start flowing, he can’t stop himself from letting out all the resentment he’s built up for the Order for years; a resentment Palpatine fostered in him. He talks about the obsession he’s had with finding a way to stop death ever since he lost his mother. Everything he once held closely to his chest, giving only Palpatine occasional glimpses of it, he finally reveals to Obi-Wan.

His former Master looks taken aback.

“I don’t know how I didn’t see it before,” he muses. “If I had known...”

“You didn’t know because I didn’t _tell_ you,” Anakin interrupts. “And I should have. I put my faith into Palpatine instead of you, and I... I’m sorry for that.”

Obi-Wan doesn’t give him a stern look or scold him for trusting Palpatine over him. Instead, he gives him a small smile. He has that same soft look to his face as he did for that split second in Padmé’s apartment, when he admitted he just wanted to preserve Anakin’s happiness. Anakin is just as stunned getting it a second time around, but now he takes a moment to lean into it, like a flower reaching towards the sunlight.

Somehow, having Obi-Wan’s approval now means just as much to him as it did when he was a young Padawan.

“Even while you were under his influence, you made the right decision,” he affirms. “I’m proud of the Jedi you’ve become.”

Anakin’s smiles fades. Obi-Wan may be proud of him _now_ , but how will he feel when Anakin turns his back on him and the rest of their Jedi brothers and sisters? He won’t approve, that much he knows.

“I’m leaving the Order,” he blurts out.

Obi-Wan’s eyes widen.

“ _What?_ ”

Anakin can’t stand to look him in the eyes. He’s too scared he’ll see sadness or hurt. So, he casts his gaze onto his babies, watching the rise and fall of their chests.

“Hiding my relationship with Padmé was bad enough, but hiding my _children_?”

Luke lets out a little whimper that tugs on his heart strings. He’s already so _proud_ to call himself these children’s father.

“I won’t do that to them,” he whispers.

If he continued to hide his marriage and his family, he wouldn’t be able to claim his babies or give them his name. In the eyes of the public, they would be fatherless. He already sees Padmé sparingly, but what would his long absences do to his children? Would they even know him? He could miss seeing them grow up. He could miss their first clumsy steps and hearing them call him “dada”. They would think he doesn’t want them, and the thought hurts worse than a lightsaber to the chest.

He’s going to give his children the childhood he never had, and the Jedi won’t stand in his way.

“Besides, I doubt they would let me stay if they found out about all this,” he adds.

Obi-Wan purses his lips in silent contemplation.

“I won’t argue with you about this right now...,” he concedes. “But I think you’re making a mistake.”

Anakin sucks in a breath. He knew he’d face opposition when he made this choice, but it feels different coming from Obi-Wan. He remembers what it was like watching Ahsoka walk away from the Order; walk away from _him_. If he’s putting Obi-Wan through even a fraction of that pain, then he’s committed the ultimate betrayal. But like Ahsoka, he knows it’s something he must do.

“You’re right,” he agrees. “We _shouldn’t_ argue about this right now.”

A silence passes over them.

 _Where do we go from here?_ Anakin wonders. _Who are we to each other without the Order?_

“You can go report to the Council now, if you want,” Anakin offers. “Just... please don’t tell them I’m leaving. I want to be the one to do it.”

Obi-Wan gives him a nod. He just seems grateful to be given an opportunity for escape. Anakin can’t begrudge him for it.

“I understand. I’ll report back to you once the meeting is over.”

He turns swiftly on his heels, heading towards the door. Anakin watches his retreating form. As the door slides open, he calls to him,

“Obi-Wan!”

The older man turns around to look at him.

“Thank you,” Anakin says. “For everything.”

Obi-Wan nods his head, concealing a small smile

“May the Force be with you, and the little ones,” he replies.

Anakin matches him with a smile of his own.

“May the Force be with you as well.”

Obi-Wan finally exits, leaving Anakin alone with his wife and babies. Padmé is still sound asleep, looking every bit the angel that she is. He thought it was impossible to love her more than he already did, that she was already his entire universe. He was wrong. His love for her has only deepened now that she’s brought his – _their_ – children into the galaxy. There’s not a single doubt in his mind that his love for her will grow stronger every single day, watching her raise their babies. She’ll be a wonderful mother, he’s sure of it.

He turns back to the bassinets, staring down at the twins. He can’t get enough of their sweet little faces.

Luke starts whimpering again, his Force presence clouding in discontent. Anakin deftly reaches inside the bassinet and scoops him up into his arms. The awkwardness of holding a baby for the first time has long since faded. Holding his children feels like second nature to him already, as if he was always meant to be their father. He nestles Luke in the crook of his arm and sways back and forth gently.

“What’s wrong, little angel?” he asks. “Are you hungry?”

A little presence nudges at the edge of his senses. It thrills him to realize it’s his son reaching out to him, probably unconsciously. Anakin doesn’t sense hunger or discomfort or fear coming from Luke. Now that he’s in his father’s arms, he projects nothing but contentment. His eyes flutter open, staring up at Anakin.

“Do you remember me?” Anakin whispers. “I talked to you every night. Could you hear me?”

Luke looks right into his eyes, making a little “o” shape with his mouth. A surge of recognition flows through their newly formed bond. His son _does_ know his voice. All those nights he stayed up, whispering his love to Padmé’s swollen belly, his son heard him. And maybe his daughter did as well.

It tears a breathless laugh out of him.

“What have I done in my life to deserve something as good as you or your sister?” he wonders.

He leans down to press a feather-light kiss on Luke’s nose. His son doesn’t so much as stir, still staring up at him with those big blue eyes. Anakin can’t wait until his daughter fusses for attention as well, so he can pick her up and feel that strong Force connection with her as well. He can’t wait to look into her warm brown eyes, so much like her mother’s. He could stare at both at his children for an eternity and never grow tired of it.

“You’ll always be safe with me,” he promises. “You’ll always be loved.”

He was wrong again about his happiest moment. As he holds his son and watches his daughter sleep, he knows without a shred of doubt, _this_ is his happiest moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If I got anything wrong about childbirth pls forgive me I'm a childless college student and google only goes so far


	5. Ghostly Conversations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the Battle of Endor, Luke has the opportunity to talk to Anakin's Force ghost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the lamest title ever but it was all I could think of.

It’s all over. After years of struggle, of devastating losses and dwindling hope, they’ve done it. The second Death Star is destroyed. They’re _free_. With the Emperor gone, the remaining Imperials will be unorganized and easy to defeat. Then the politicians like Leia and Mon Mothma can go about reinstating a new Republic. This long war is finally coming to a close, and Luke knows he should be happy. Of course, he’s happy the Empire has all but fallen. The galaxy is one step closer to peace, and he’s made it out of this war with most of his loved ones intact. But there is one loss that still plagues his mind, making it difficult to celebrate the victory with his friends.

_Father._

Months ago, the thought of being able to _care_ for someone like Vader was repulsive to him. Even after the revelation on Bespin, he was so filled with anger and hurt that he still wanted to kill him; his own father. Luke still doesn’t know how he gathered the strength needed to forgive the man who tortured his friends, killed Ben, cut off his hand, and terrorized the entire galaxy. He’s glad he did, otherwise he would have never seen the good in his father. In the end, Darth Vader was no more. Anakin Skywalker died as himself, and as a free man.

He’s gone, and Luke only really knew him in his final moments. There are so many questions that will never be answered. There’s so much time he’ll never have with him.

A delicate hand falls on his shoulder. He turns to his side to find Leia sitting down next to him.

“You’ve been pretty quiet for someone who just destroyed his second Death Star,” she jokes. She tries to keep her tone light, but Luke can hear the undercurrent of concern in her words. The longer the rest of the Alliance has stayed up celebrating, the more withdrawn he’s become.

“It wasn’t me who fired the shot this time,” he reminds her.

She shrugs and scoots closer to him. Unlike him, she’s been celebrating all night, mostly wrapped up in Han’s arms. Her elation is palpable. Luke would be hard pressed to find anybody more dedicated to the Empire’s downfall than she is. But despite her happiness, Luke can see that same exhaustion in her face that he’s sure is in his as well. The Empire has taken more from her than anyone else he knows.

“What’s on your mind?” she asks.

He musters up a small smile.

“Nothing. It’s just... it’s all overwhelming.”

What is he supposed to tell her? That he’s sad about the death of a man she hates with a burning passion? Vader – _Anakin_ – was her father too, but only in blood. She’ll never consider him her real father. As much as he wishes he could lean on his sister for support, he knows talking about it would only upset her.

 _He_ lost his father tonight. Leia lost hers a long time ago.

She nods and squeezes his shoulder gently. The look on her face tells him that she doesn’t quite believe him, but luckily, she doesn’t press the issue.

“I understand,” she says. “It’s hard to believe we finally have something to celebrate.”

Luke nods absently at her words, but his attention is pulled towards a spot over her shoulder. A glowing blue figure retreats into the woods just beyond his sight. It pulls at him, as if it wants him to follow. He has a suspicion about what – or _who_ – this figure is, and he’s not about to let it slip through his fingers.

“I need to go get some air,” he mutters, getting up and brushing past Leia. He can sense his sister’s confusion, but she doesn’t make a move to stop him.

He politely squeezes his way through the crowd and heads down towards the dense forests the figure retreated into. The Force whispers to him, guiding him further into the woods. It’s not long before he sees a glimmer of light up ahead; blue light. He speeds up, weaving between the trees, until he finally comes across a small clearing in forest, much like the area he burned his father’s body in.

Sitting on a stump, gazing at him with a serene expression, is his father.

The moonlight shines down on them, giving Luke a better look at the man in front of him. He looks like he did when he stood next to Obi-Wan and Yoda, watching the rebels celebrate. He’s young, probably the same age Luke is now. His curly, dirty blonde hair brushes his shoulders. There’s a scar over his right eye and Luke sees his own blue eyes staring back at him. Luke has his father’s chin too, it seems. But in the rest of his face? He sees Leia.

 _She would hate that,_ he thinks guiltily.

Luke approaches his father’s apparition slowly, like he’s trying to walk up to an eopie without startling it.

“Hello, son,” Anakin greets him.

Luke tries to keep himself from gaping like an idiot. He still can’t believe that he’s seeing his _father_. He’s seeing him as the man he truly was, the man he dreamed about his entire life. He got a small glimpse of him in his final minutes of life, but he was too struck by grief to really take it in. The little boy from Tatooine that still exists in him is bursting with unbridled joy.

“Hello, Father,” he whispers back.

Anakin stands up and starts to walk up to him. He moves just as slowly as Luke did, staring intently at him. It’s like he’s studying him, taking in every inch of his appearance. His father’s face may be young, but his years show in his eyes. He radiates a bone deep weariness that can only come from a lifetime of pain. But there’s also a calmness to him that he never had as Vader. In death, it seems, he’s found some solace.

“I should have left you to celebrate with your friends, but I wanted so badly to see you up close again,” he apologizes.

Luke fights a smile. The fact that his father wanted to see him again makes his heart soar.

“Don’t worry about it,” Luke dismisses. “I don’t know if you noticed, but I wasn’t having a great time.”

Anakin’s face falls, and Luke wonders what he’s said to upset him.

“Please, my son, don’t waste your time being sad about my death,” he begs. “You saved me in the only way that mattered.”

Luke flinches. He surrendered himself to his father that night intending to bring him back to the Light and back to _him_ , and it had ended in his death. That wasn’t part of his plan. Maybe it was foolish, but he hoped he could convince his father to join his side. They could fight for the good of the galaxy as father and son, instead of ruling it. It was a nice dream, but an unrealistic one. His father was always meant to die in order to return to the Light. Luke just didn’t want to accept it.

That doesn’t stop his guilt.

“How?” he asks. “I let you die!”

Anakin gives him a smile, bursting with affection. His presence in the Force, faded but still present, wraps around Luke like a comforting blanket. Being in his father’s presence used to make him feel a chill rivaling the blizzards of Hoth. Now he feels nothing but warmth.

“I’ve been all but dead these past 23 years,” Anakin tells him gently. “You brought me back to the Light. I was more alive in those few minutes than I ever was as Palpatine’s apprentice. You’ve given me peace, Luke.”

He reaches a hand out towards Luke’s cheek, like he intends to hold it. His ghostly fingers slip right through Luke’s jaw. Luke doesn’t feel so much as a tickle. He and his father can see each other, they can talk to each other, but they can’t touch. Anakin’s crestfallen expression makes Luke’s chest ache. There’s so much they missed out on in these past 23 years that they’ll never get back.

Luke holds out his hand, his palm facing towards Anakin. His father looks at him curiously for a moment, before the realization of what Luke is asking dawns on him. He extends his own hand and stops right before it can pass through Luke’s. Neither of them can feel it, but it looks like they’re pressing their hands together.

“It’s close enough,” Luke insists.

Anakin chuckles and drops his hand.

“You really are something special, my son.”

The words make Luke’s cheeks burn. Receiving his father’s praise is something he’s craved his entire life. So many things he’s done, especially in these past few years, were for the purpose of making his father proud all the way from whatever afterlife Luke used to believe him to be in. Hearing him confirm that he likes the person Luke has turned out to be is a massive relief.

He gives Anakin a wry smile.

“I get it from my father,” he teases.

Anakin grins and shakes his head.

“No, you get it from your –,” he starts to say.

He’s quick to cut himself short, the smile slowly dropping off his face. His eyes are distant, as if his mind is far away. He doesn’t need to continue his sentence. Luke knows who he’s talking about.

 _Mother_.

His mother has been a vague figure to him his entire life, someone who barely existed in the deepest corners of his mind. He rarely ever allowed himself to think about her. Maybe he should be ashamed of that, but he had no information to build a picture of her in his head. Uncle Owen and Aunt Beru didn’t know anything about her. They only had minimal information about his father, and that was what he clung onto. His father was the only parent he’s ever been able to spin into a whole person in his mind.

He wants to be able to do that with his mother as well.

“Can you tell me about her?” he asks.

A flash of pain crosses Anakin’s face, followed by a wave of raw emotion flowing towards Luke through the Force. Luke’s mother died when he was only a baby, that much he knows, but Anakin’s pain feels fresh. If he’s so sad even thinking about her, does that mean he loved her?

“I’m sorry,” Anakin sighs. “You have every right to know, but I... it’s still too difficult for me to talk about.”

Luke thinks he has his answer about whether or not he loved her.

Still, so many questions remain unanswered. When Leia told him that she had vague memories of their mother, it sparked a flame of envy in his chest. He couldn’t understand why she had these fragments of their mother in her mind, but _he_ didn’t. He has nothing. Not even a name.

“I understand,” he reassures him, unable to keep the disappointment from creeping into his voice.

Anakin frowns deeply and lowers his eyes towards the ground. Luke feels his stomach roll over from guilt. This is supposed to be a happy moment, and he keeps bringing his father pain without even intending to. Anakin Skywalker already had so much pain in his life, Luke doesn’t want to give him more in death.

Luke opens his mouth to apologize, but Anakin quickly perks up.

“If you’d like, you can ask Artoo to tell you about her,” he suggests. “I’ve noticed he landed in your possession somehow.”

Luke’s eyes widen.

“Y-You _know_ Artoo?” he sputters.

Anakin gives him a mischievous grin. Luke has a feeling that in that grin, he’s seeing a glimmer of the man his father was before he became Vader.

“Of course. He was my astromech during the Clone Wars.”

Luke never had any idea that he had a piece of his father’s past with him. All this time, Artoo had information on _both_ his parents stored in his memory bank. And he never showed any of it to him.

That little traitor.

“Next you’ll tell me Threepio was yours too,” he jokes.

Anakin nods.

“I built him when I was a child.”

Luke gives a little chuckle, assuming it’s a joke. His father maintains a straight face. _He_ doesn’t seem to be treating it as a joke.

“Wait, you’re serious?” Luke asks.

Anakin gives him another grin and nods again. Luke gapes at him. Considering all the startling revelations he’s had over the past few years, he really shouldn’t be surprised by this.

Unlike Artoo, Luke knows Threepio _must_ have had his memory wiped. There’s no way the chatty protocol droid could have kept from blabbing about his original master.

“I wonder how Leia ended up with them,” he wonders aloud.

The mention of Leia’s name is enough to make Anakin’s face fall again. Luke could slap himself for his carelessness.

“I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to –,”

Anakin holds a hand up to silence him. He’s forcing a weary smile onto his face, but his expression is etched with pain.

“It’s alright, son,” he reassures him. “I deserve your sister’s hatred. I hate myself too for what I’ve done to her.”

Luke bites his lip, searching for the right words to say. His father’s regret and grief show plainly in his eyes. Now that he’s free from the Dark Side and Palpatine’s influence, it seems the weight of everything he’s done has piled onto his shoulders. He _has_ done awful things, and Luke isn’t blind to that. Some would consider him a monster. But to Luke, the fact that he feels guilt at all proves that his father truly was a good man.

“But that wasn’t _you_ ,” he argues. “It was Darth Vader, not Anakin Skywalker. You’re not him anymore.”

Anakin lets out a breathy, mirthless laugh.

“I wish it were that simple,” he laments. “I fell to the Dark Side _as_ Anakin Skywalker. Everything that I did as Darth Vader is my blame to carry and mine alone.”

Luke can hardly argue with that. His father knew full well what he was doing when he carried out the Emperor’s orders. But there was good in him all this time. However small it was, it was there. The man he was before he fell still existed inside of him, buried deep, and it just took an act of love to bring it out.

“Maybe... maybe one day she’ll forgive you like I have,” he suggests.

The words are hollow, and they both know it. Even when Luke believed Darth Vader to be his father’s killer, Leia’s hatred for him was stronger than his. Luke can’t fathom carrying around as much anger as Leia has throughout the entire war, but to her, anger is a motivator. He doubts she’d be willing to let it go.

“I tortured her,” Anakin blurts out. “My own daughter. For _hours_.”

He closes his eyes momentarily against the wave of grief and regret that Luke can feel coming from him.

“I held her in place while her home planet was blown up right in front of her eyes. I felt all her anguish and I... I reveled in it. Force help me, I was _glad_ I caused her pain.”

The haunted look in Anakin’s eyes when he opens them is enough to make Luke want to turn away, but he forces himself to keep looking at his father.

“You didn’t know...”

“I should have” Anakin declares. “Just like I should have known about you, a long time ago.”

A pang of sadness bounces around Luke’s chest. How many times did he look up into the night sky on Tatooine, waiting for his father to come down and whisk him away? Over the years he practiced this ritual less and less. He finally came to accept the fantasy of meeting his father would never happen.

Until the day it did – then he had regretted ever wishing for it in the first place.

“But I shudder to think about what I could have turned you into,” Anakin continues. “Obi-Wan did the right thing in hiding you both from me.”

Luke raises an eyebrow. His father had hunted him down ruthlessly after learning that Obi-Wan hid him away. His hatred for Obi-Wan was evident in the venomous way with which he said his name and in the eagerness with which he struck him down. In life, his father didn’t have any warm feelings towards his former Master.

“I never thought I’d hear you say a good thing about Obi-Wan,” he jokes.

Anakin shrugs.

“We’ve made peace,” he explains. “And it wouldn’t have been possible without you.”

Luke feels his cheeks heat up. His father gives him more credit than he deserves.

“You’re the one who saved me from the Emperor,” Luke reminds him. “ _I_ should be thanking _you_.”

His father’s eyes harden. There’s a spark of anger in him, and some of that cold he used to exude creeps back up. Luke can sense the anger isn’t directed at him, but that doesn’t stop the fear that seizes his heart. He’s just barely able to keep himself from projecting it into the Force. He knows his father is no longer Vader and he has no reason to fear him, but old habits die hard.

Vader was consumed by his anger, and Luke has a suspicion that Anakin Skywalker grappled with it as well.

“I shouldn’t have let it get that far,” Anakin whispers. “I should have never even let him _near_ you.”

The fierce tone of his voice makes Luke’s heart clench. He _chose_ to surrender. He chose to face the Emperor. He knew what was likely to happen, and he walked into it willingly. It’s no fault of his father’s, and he wishes he wouldn’t blame himself for it. In the end, his father did what was right.

“I don’t deserve your forgiveness, but I must tell you how sorry I am for everything I’ve done to you and your sister,” he continues. “I’m sorry I caused you so much pain. I almost let you die, and for that alone all my years of suffering are deserved.”

Anakin’s gaze lowers, resting on Luke’s prosthetic hand. Luke can feel the hatred rolling off him in waves, all directed at himself.

“What kind of father does _this_ to his own child?” Anakin asks.

Luke remembers asking himself the same question that day. The searing pain where his hand had been sliced off was nothing in comparison to the sharp ache of betrayal he felt. It had been his own _father_ who left him mutilated and traumatized. But that initial anger and hurt faded along with the phantom pains. He was able to forgive that along with everything else.

“It’s alright, Father. I’ve already forgiven you.”

Anakin shakes his head in frustration.

“You shouldn’t,” he insists vehemently. “I don’t deserve it.”

A ghost of a smile passes over Luke’s face. Maybe his father doesn’t deserve his forgiveness, but he _needs_ it, and Luke is more than happy to oblige.

“I forgive you, and I’m not taking it back. Forgiveness is a choice. It doesn’t matter whether or not you deserve it.”

Anakin lets out a shaky, relieved sigh.

“Thank you, son,” he whispers. “You’ll never know how much that means to me.”

He’s happy to see that his forgiveness has brought his father peace, but truthfully, Luke did it in part for himself. He wanted to believe that the father he dreamed about on Tatooine was real, so he _chose_ to believe it.

“Will I ever see you again?” Luke asks hopefully.

Anakin’s expression turns somber.

“I’m not sure,” he acknowledges. “You’re able to see me and Obi-Wan and Yoda because we’re rejecting the will of the Force. After death, a Jedi is supposed to become one with the Force, but we’re choosing to stay in the physical world.”

His brow furrows slightly as if trying to gather a thought, a habit Luke recognizes as one of his own.

“No one knows what happens when you become one with the Force. There’s never been any recorded incidents of anyone coming back to tell the tale. I have no idea whether or not I’ll be able to visit you once I move on.”

Luke’s shocked his father didn’t become one with the Force the second he passed. After all those years of living as a slave encased in a durasteel tomb, he assumed moving on would be a welcome relief. In his last moments, he didn’t exactly seem saddened by his impending death. If anything, he seemed to be comforted by it. He probably wanted to die for a very, very long time and finally got his wish tonight.

Luke swallows hard, keeping his emotions at bay.

“Why did you stay behind?” he asks.

“I wanted to talk to you,” Anakin admits. “I thought you might need it.”

He did. He needed it more than he ever thought possible. Knowing that his father is at peace is enough to bring him some closure. He couldn’t save his father’s life, but maybe he saved his soul.

“And I hoped to finally see Leia up close as my daughter, not my enemy, but I’m afraid that would only upset her,” Anakin continues.

Luke shudders just thinking about how Leia would react to their father visiting her. He imagines she would raise all nine Corellian hells and unload an entire blaster into Anakin’s ghostly form. It’s for the best that she never sees him.

“What are you going to do now?” Luke asks.

There’s one answer in particular that Luke is hoping for, one that would mean he could have more moments like this one. But from the regret written all over Anakin’s face, he can tell it’s not the answer he’s going to get.

He squashes his disappointment and tells himself to stop being so selfish. It’s his father’s afterlife, he should get to choose how he spends it.

“I don’t know,” he sighs. “I wish I could stay and learn about every detail of your life and who you are, but I can hear the Force whispering for me to let go of this form.”

His expression softens, and Luke notices such a look of _longing_ in his eyes.

“I have some hope that there’s an afterlife like the ancient religions speak of... And that I may see your mother there.”

Luke smiles a bit at that thought; his parents, together again for the rest of eternity. _Happy_ , like they should be. Maybe they would watch over him and Leia, beaming with pride at their successes and mourning with them for their losses. It’d be almost like they were a whole family.

“Whatever you decide to do, I’ll accept it,” Luke assures him. “I just want you to be happy.”

Anakin smiles serenely.

“ _Happy_ ,” he drawls, like he’s savoring the word. “I had forgotten what it meant to be happy until I met you.”

He slowly reaches his ghostly hand out to hover centimeters from Luke’s cheek, mimicking the act of holding it. It’s impossible, but Luke swears he can feel the warmth of his skin and the gentleness of his touch. A powerful wave of love washes over him. Whether it’s coming from him or from Anakin, he can’t tell.

“My son,” his father whispers. “My grown-up son.”

His words remind Luke about just how much time they missed out on, but it doesn’t bring the same pang of sadness he felt thinking of it before. They’re here together now, and that’s what matters. He’s lucky to even have this moment.

“I’m so proud of you, Luke,” Anakin declares fiercely. “You and your sister. And I know your mother would be too.”

Tears sting Luke’s eyes, a small trickle making its way down his cheek. He’s quick to wipe it away. _This_ is all he’s ever wanted. It’s everything he’s ever dreamed about. After 23 years of waiting and wishing, he finally, _truly_ has a father.

“Thank you,” he chokes out.

Anakin drops his hand, gazing at Luke with the kindest eyes he thinks he’s ever seen. He exudes warmth and Luke basks in it.

“Look to the Force, Luke, and you’ll always find me,” he proclaims.

And just like that, in the blink of an eye, the glowing blue light vanishes. Luke is left staring straight ahead at a clearing, illuminated by nothing but the moonlight. His father is gone, and Luke has the feeling that he’s never coming back.

He stares up at the stars like he did so many years ago on Tatooine, this time confident that someone is listening.

“Goodbye, Father. Say hi to Mother and Ben for me.”


End file.
